


Bodyguard Services

by TheWaitingFangirl



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Haytham takes care of you, He's a sweet bastard, PreAC3, Sassy Haytham, Templar!Reader, kinda fluff i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaitingFangirl/pseuds/TheWaitingFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a Templar your purpose was clear; obey the Order and the Grandmaster, assure his safety and if needed be, give your life for him. Ensure the order, spread knowledge and realization for those who proof themselves worthy. Being raised as such, it wasn’t a big surprise when you were given the mission of accompanying the Grandmaster through his travels in the New World. You left England shortly after him, meeting with the Leader of the Templar Order in New York. After being presented to the Templar group of New York – Lee, Johnson and Hickey if you remembered them correctly — then you and the Grandmaster left for Boston. Ignoring the relentless weather of the New World — truly, it was hardly any different from the England weather you were used to.</p><p>It was a simple mission. Arrive in Boston, establish a Templar control center, kill the resident Assassins, and take the city.</p><p>A piece of cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodyguard Services

**Author's Note:**

> Had some requests at tumblr for Haytham: 
> 
> Anonymous: Hi friend :3 I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could you please write a oneshot with Haytham (He’s a sarcastic gem I love him)? Maybe the reader got injured while they were on a mission with him, and when he gets worried and tries to help they both realize their feelings for each other? Thank you in advance! :)
> 
> the-young-eagle: Could you do one on Haytham pls? Something a bit heavy but slightly solemn at the same time? I really don’t know if I’m making any sense but thanks :)
> 
> So here we are! Hope you guys like it. I'm not particularly very fond of this fic, but eh I tried...

As a Templar your purpose was clear; obey the Order and the Grandmaster, assure his safety and if needed be, give your life for him. Ensure the order, spread knowledge and realization for those who proof themselves worthy. Being raised as such, it wasn’t a big surprise when you were given the mission of accompanying the Grandmaster through his travels in the New World. You left England shortly after him, meeting with the Leader of the Templar Order in New York. After being presented to the Templar group of New York – Lee, Johnson and Hickey if you remembered them correctly — then you and the Grandmaster left for Boston. Ignoring the relentless weather of the New World — truly, it was hardly any different from the England weather you were used to.

It was a simple mission. Arrive in Boston, establish a Templar control center, kill the resident Assassins, and take the city.

_A piece of cake._

The two day ride to the city came to a pause, stopping by a cozy looking inn near a hunting station. You didn’t quite know how the whole thing began… Haytham had told you to enter the inn and rent two rooms for both of you while he took care of the horses. You did as you were told, entering the wooden building and letting the warmth of the place heat you up from the snowy weather outside.

You looked around skeptically. The place smelled like ale and sweat. There were a few candles lighting up the hall, most of its tables empty — a few drunkards hunched over the bar mumbling something to the young waitress working there, some hunters talking about a stupid legend of a ghost near a cave, somewhere that didn’t matter to you, and a group of hooded travelers with big overcoats sitting at a table almost at the end of the building. You eyed them carefully. None of the 4 figures were eating nor drinking. Neither talking. They looked like they were waiting for something. Or _someone_.

You frowned, feeling a wave of agitation wash over you and your hand went slowly to the handle of your dagger. _Assassins._

From there on things escalated quickly. Haytham entered the inn, swinging the wooden door open as the assassins stood up. And then all hell broke loose.

The men were now coming your way, wrists flicking and bloodthirsty blades appearing. You were a bit amazed to be honest. The hidden blade, the iconic weapon used by the infamous Assassins… Oh, you wanted one of those that’s for sure.

Someone screamed as one of the assassins pounced on you — you guessed it was the waitress — trying to take you down while the other three went towards the Grandmaster. You parried his blade with the dagger, feeling something warm and sticky run down your arm and then kicked his stomach in reflex. Casting the man to the floor and turning around to grab another one, your dagger flying to open a deep gash in his neck.

Haytham dodged the assassins skillfully, using his own hidden blades to fight — there wasn’t enough time to draw his sword. You were on your way to help the Templar Grandmaster when someone grabbed your leg, making you fall to the ground. The previous assassin climbed over you and punched your face, drawing his other hand to thrust the blade into your neck. You gritted your teeth, black dots flickering your vision and pushed the dagger against his leg, letting the cold blade sink into flesh. The man cursed loudly, gloved hand coming to grasp at your neck and you twisted the blade in his leg.

At this point everyone had left the inn — besides you, Haytham, and the assassins — at least as far as you knew. Your vision started to fade out at its borders when someone grasped the Assassin’s neck, pushing him to the ground. When Haytham stood up, there was a deep gash in the man’s bloodied neck as he agonized and then soon let go.

The fight had died as quickly as it began.

“Are you wounded?” Haytham asked, coming closer and offering his hand to you. You took a deep breath, panting slightly and ignoring his hand, getting up by yourself. Your leg throbbed painfully at the effort, making you hiss at it.

“I’m fine.” You rasped out, hand lifting to touch your cheek, tsking as it came back with blood. Haytham smirked, scoffing at your statement.

“That’s not quite true, my dear…” the Grandmaster mused, grasping at your hand and pulling your arm to his gaze. “That is a rather deep gash…” he commented more to himself after examining it. “And I’m pretty sure something happened to your leg, given the way you hissed as you stood. Am I right?” Haytham cocked his head to the side, still smirking.

You pressed your lips together, eyes trained to the wooden floor in shame. An assassin had taken you down easily. It was your job to protect the Templar Grandmaster, not his to look out for you. Haytham hummed thoughtfully and you gazed up at his expression. He wasn’t angry, as you expected him to be. Neither doubtful. “We can’t leave you all bloodied and wounded, now can we?”

You bit your lip, feeling your face burn in pure shame. “I _can_ wait until we get to Boston, sir. I’ve had worse.” You uttered in a tiny voice, wishing the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“No.” Haytham let go of your arm. “It wouldn’t be wise, you could leave a trail of blood to Boston; that is if you don’t die until we get there of, ah, blood loss. And I can’t afford to let you die, can I?” He smiled, strolling back to the bar where the owner of the place — a fat bald man — stood with wide eyes, watching Haytham as if he’d kill him right there.

You sighed, looking to the dead assassin that almost killed you and leaned over to retrieve your dagger and you instinctively eyed the weapon on his arm. You smirked slightly, kneeling carefully and undoing the leather straps that attached the blade to his wrist, eyeing it curiously and Haytham turned around, a bottle of whisky in hand and a clean rag in the other. Then your eyes met.

_Caught._

“Really?” Haytham breathed out sarcastically. You shrugged, looking away from him and fidgeted some more with the gadget.

“What?” you mumbled. “I’ve always wanted one, ok?”

The Grandmaster smiled, setting the liquor down on a wooden table and offering his hand to you once more and this time you took it. “They are rather useful” he coaxed you to sit on the wooden chair, pulling the cork off the bottle loudly and offering it to you. You sighed, grasping at the bottle and took a long sip of it, letting the liquor coat your throat and burn its way down.

“Ready?” Haytham asked, taking it from your hand.

You looked up at him and nodded, shutting your eyes tightly. Haytham poured the liquor over your arm, making you yell under your breath, nails scrapping the surface of the table roughly. “It’s almost over…” you heard the man’s voice as he poured more of the amber liquid over the bloodied slash. He set the bottle aside, pulling the rag and wrapping it poorly but carefully around the wounded flesh. He smiled up at you “Done. It’s as if you were brand new, my dear.”

You scoffed at his words, looking over at his wrists. “Where did you get those?” you pointed at Haytham’s hidden blades. The Grandmaster flicked his wrist, making the blade kick out.

“Same as you, my dear.” Haytham chuckled. “From an Assassin. Even though I didn’t kill him. Let’s just call it a loan, shall we?”

You arched your brows at him, an incredulous smile forming at your lips. “You stole it?”

Haytham scoffed, looking around at the fumbling barman that came holding two cups and a key. “Y— your quarters are ready, Master K— Kenway.” The man stuttered out in an accent that you couldn’t quite make out before bowing slightly, eyeing the bodies nervously.

The Grandmaster eyed the man coldly. “Is something the matter?”

The barman gasped, looking down at the floor. “N— No, sir.”

“Do the bodies bother you?” Haytham got up, tucking his hands behind and towering over the man. “Do they?” He repeated menacingly.

“No, sir! Absolutely not!” The barman stuttered again, licking his lips nervously. “B— but… If there was a way of… getting rid of them that’d be… l— lovely.” The man added in quietly. Haytham hummed thoughtfully, giving you a self pleased look and a tiny smirk.

“Maybe you can carry them out. There is a river nearby your place.” He said in a slow paced voice, as if speaking with a child. “Am I mistaken?”

“Yes, sir! I— I mean, no sir!” You smiled discreetly, appreciating the show Haytham was putting up for you.

“Then what are you waiting for?” The British man smiled slightly.

The man gulped, looking over at the dead assassins and nodded slightly, getting to the given task. Haytham smiled at you, sitting again and pouring whiskey in both cups, offering you one. “As I said, my dear… It was a loan.” He cocked his head and playfully put his glass up.


End file.
